The Player and his Bunny
by omgpink
Summary: YAMAMOTOxOC : There's Hugh Hefner, and then, there's Yamamoto Takeshi : For and with Ai Angel, to please both our fluff-craving, Yama lovin' minds!
1. Part 1

**THE PLAYER AND HIS BUNNY****  
**.:Part 1:.

~1~

How unlucky! Her money must have fallen out of her pocket!

Fukuichi Usagi peered warily into her boyfriend's nylon gym bag, contemplating with a furrowed brow. Then, her hands reached in and she ruffled desperately through the many pockets. The baseball player had entrusted the worn navy blue bag to her before the game. Oh, Yamamoto had to have coins hidden somewhere with his sweaty T-shirts and towels! She was so thirsty, her tongue dry, and the Coke-Cola vending machine only took loose change!

She hurriedly rolled up her sleeves. Why did she have to wear this stupid long sleeve shirt today? Why? Why? The cool morning had turned into a hot night, the air humid to boot! She crouched in front of the vending machine in the empty lobby of her high school's baseball stadium, rummaging, searching.

Suddenly, cheers erupted from the vaulting ceiling, from the spectators sitting above, and she momentarily wondered if the applause was for—

_And Yamamoto Takeshi snags another base right under the pitcher's nose! Ladies and gentlemen…_

But the growing wetness under her armpits had to be dealt with. Thank goodness she had worn deodorant, but sweat stains—EWW! If she could only drink some water from the refrigerated dispenser, her body would cool off.

Usagi unzipped another compartment and dug her hand inside, praying for loose change to kiss her fingers. Instead, a square of sharp plastic nicked her skin, making her tongue push the roof of her mouth in annoyance. She pulled out the object to see the bottom of the side-pocket.

WAIT! WHAT? A CONDOM?

* * *

~2~

Fukuichi Usagi padded sourly down the street in her childish, and already too small, butterfly-decorated sneakers. The sun hit her skin like a pressing iron and the humid air prevented her sweat from evaporating. Heat rose from the black pavement and the twisting cracks plugged with brown grass. Usagi noticed pointedly that none of the other neighborhood children were out playing.

At home, her dolls sat in heavenly air-conditioning.

"You go pick up some extra water bottles at Tamaki's!" her mother said quickly.

"But Kaaaaaaaaaasan," Usagi had whined. However the housewife only rubbed her hands on her apron before pushing some money in her darling eight-year-old's hand. "You can visit grandma on the way back, Usagi-chan. Be a good girl."

Finally, the child arrived at the corner market. A line of costumers burst out the doors and continued a bit down the block. A sign on the window said 'Out of Ice,' and she could hear bickering and complaining coming from within the crowd itself.

As she approached, the crowd dispersed. Usagi smiled as she walked up to the market's doorway, thinking the world revolved around her. Her lucky day, right?

"Usagi-chan, what are you doing here, cutie-pie?" Old Tamaki closed the door and locked the deadbolt with a ring of keys. He was a bald middle-aged man. His smile was missing a few teeth, but, nonetheless, shined with kindness.

"Tamaki-sama, Kasan wants me to buy some bottles," she informed the shopkeeper. "Are they cheaper today?" She had recently learned how to add and subtract in school. How much money could she keep from the wad entrusted to her? Enough to play Bop'em at the arcade? Her mind whirred like a penny calculator.

"Haha. I'm sorry little one, but I'm closing." Tamaki bent down to her level. "With this drought and all, my supplies are being bought up before I can order more." Usagi's mind now raced for an excuse to tell her mother, instead of practicing elementary arithmetic. She had set out two hours ago, after all, went off and did her own thing. There was a park nearby with a little brook. . She hadn't exactly gone straight to the corner store. How would she explain coming back empty-handed?

Across the street, a young boy helped an older man hoist a sign the shape of a fish. Old Tamaki waved and walked over to them to talk.

"Opening shop so soon? You just moved in!"

Usagi had more important things to worry about than the young boy poking his head around his father's back and eying her curiously.

* * *

~3~

Sure, he was cute. Sure, he was athletic, her mind repeated grudgingly.

"Yamamoto! GOOOO YAMAMOTO!" the girls shouted from the bleachers, even the tomboys getting into it, leading the crowd. In the distance, a baseball rolled into left field, followed by a tipping boy, glove first, slipping on the grass. P.E. wasn't co-ed, and now with their teacher absent, her class was stuck watching the boys play baseball. Baseball—it was so boring.

Then why was she watching it?

"Haha! Sorry, sorry!" He said as he rounded the bases, smiling politely, his eyes squinting with his broad smile. Did he know he was grabbing the world's attention?

"Hey, Usagi, isn't Yamamoto cool?" Sei asked, plopping down next to her, joining her on the higher deck of bleachers. Usagi lifted her eyes from a notebook, catching Yamamoto high-fiving his teammates down below.

"Wait! Are you studying? Flashcards? _Math _flashcards?" Sei laughed. "It figures," she teased, pushing her lightly on the shoulder.

"Well how else am I gonna get an A next period?" Usagi said, rather exasperated, while Sei shuffled through some of the flashcards herself, flipping them over to check the neat writing on the back. Sei didn't say anything for a while, her eyes more concentrated on the sines and cosines.

So, they sat for a bit, studying. High up on those metal bleachers

"It's so frustrating," Sei finally said. The middle school girl looked a little vexed as her eyes drifted back up to the boys on the field. Usagi's gaze followed Sei's, only targeting a certain laughing player.

"I mean, why isn't it happening?"

"…Mochida-senpai?" Usagi put out.

"Yeah… He looked at me in the hallway this morning… Our eyes met and he smiled, but that was it. Now if I could just talk to him…."

"You shouldn't come late to class for that, though." Sei had gotten in trouble with the teacher.

"GO YAMAMOTO!" hands clapped in rhythm below.

"Hey, but I really like him. He's just _so_ my type." Sei giggled a bit. "He is worth it, you know." Then, they sat for a bit longer in silence, Usagi studying, Sei sort of.

"What is your type, anyway?

"I don't know. Someone with nice eyes, I guess."

"Heh, heh. What about Yamamoto?"

"What about him?"

Sei put her head smartly in her hands and grinned at her. Usagi snickered behind her chunky book.

"Mmmn… I think he's overrated…," she explained playfully, then gearing back her focus on her math notebook again. "He's good at sports, though. I'll give him that." Her mind drifted back into geometry-land again.

"I thought you used to like him?"

"No. Well, not anymore."

"Really?"

"It got boring."

"Sure… Sure…" Sei replied quietly, looked at Usagi quizzically, who was determined to keep her nose in her arithmetic. "Well, I'm going to find you a beautiful guy, Usagi, and when you see him you'll fall head over heels. And then you'll be with me, in _love_!"

Sei leaned her back against the bleachers behind her and folded her hands over her stomach.

Meanwhile, Usagi still remained bent over her equations.

She _had_ liked him, but she had to study now. She really had to study now.

...

...

...

Why couldn't she?

Because in her mind's eye, Yamamoto sat behind her on a painted carousel horse, his arm around her stomach, his happiness over her shoulder, as they shared a pink puff of cotton candy.

Look up at the field?

No. No. She mustn't.

She turned to the last page of her notebook, where she kept old math tests folded meticulously.

100

112

93

98

100

97

98

90

105

100

107

Numbers always made her feel better.

And Yamamoto disappeared into the dugout.

* * *

~4~

He went with her to the prenatal classes, sitting behind her, feeling her breath in and out on the yoga mat.

He went with her to the ultrasound appointments, looking curiously at the screen.

Heck, he even strapped on that thirty pound lead empathy belly. He wore it during their entire vacation. She had begged him to ask his boss for it. He rarely had time off from work.

He lazed around the house in the morning, helped her with chores during the day. He washed dishes and folded laundry with her, next to her. They set up the crib and fit child-proof plugs over the electric sockets. At night, he laughed and cuddled with her, pulling up the goose-feather blanket. His hands roamed over her abdomen, feeling for the kicks. Before he left for work again, he made her giggle on the doorstep, whispering sweet words and promises to her belly.

Baseball.

They would play baseball.

He welcomed everyone at the baby shower. He praised the guests heartily for their gifts and his pride radiated through every 'thank you.' After his boss gave him a heartwarming speech, a dedication to the importance of family, Yamamoto held up a glass of wine to her health. He was careful to pour her only juice.

At the hospital, in the best private room, his eyebrows scrunched when she screamed for the epidural injection. She lay on her side, knees pulled up to her watermelon stomach and chin tucked. The spaces between the bones of her lower back widened, allowing the doctor to inject the anesthesia.

He distracted her, talking about Namimori, about their hometown, what he'd seen, what had changed. Last week, he left reluctantly on business for the Family. What had become of that old ice cream parlor, run by Tamaki's nephew? He had renovated it, but business was slow. Odd considering how good the sherbet was.

He was here. He was with her.

_They were both experienced with pain_.

They could handle this.

She could handle this.

And breaking through the moist air, the cry of life erupted. While she lay sweating from the labor of it, exhausted beyond belief, he made sure the doctor was gentle in cutting the umbilical cord. He had made sure to read books on how it was done. He promised himself he wouldn't go into this naïve.

He promised himself he would be prepared for anything.

Anything.

Because so much could go wrong.

Yamamoto thought he understood everything. He thought he had the biology down pat. He could do anything if he set his mind to it, like his sure hands gripped the baseball bat. So why couldn't he understand the immensity that pounded in his heart when he saw them together, his child nursing and her beckoning for him to come?

* * *

~5~

Usagi swept the floor of Tamaki's convenience store, mentally counting how many hours she had worked that week since last Monday and multiplying that by her rate of pay. But then, there was always taxes, and she had yet to figure out how to take those into account. Past the beverage aisle, the snack aisle, the girl finally came to the magazine racks. The glossy covers of smiling Asian women made her slow her pace as she read over the headliners.

How to be beautiful.

How to get attention.

How to win a man.

She needed some advice for the painful pimple she could just feel growing underneath her forehead. She knew it would pop up overnight, and she could feel in rumbling like a volcano. Cover up was the most wonderful thing she had discovered in her fourteen years of existence, but these bumps were just so painful. There had to be some way to nip them in the butt.

"You have wide-set eyes, Usagi," Sei said, holding a ruler. "The distance between your eyes is longer than the length of your eye, so that means… 'Apply dark shadow to the inner corners of the eyes and line both upper and lower lids.'"

"You have wide-set eyes, too, then." Usagi said, smirking.

"No, they're deep-set, see!"

"I'll do you first! Kasan taught me a neat trick!" Usagi reached into the pink makeup bag like a bag of popcorn, withdrawing a thick stick of mascara.

"If you wiggle the wand, it comes out better," she said triumphantly. Make-up was magic. Color was magic. Bronzer and blush gave color to her pale face.

"You need to get more sun. You look washed out," Sei said like she was prescribing medication. "Thank goodness someone out their invented blush, eh? And I brought my concealer, too!" Red pimples always stood out more on sallow skin.

Playfully, they bumped each other's hips in front of the mirror. She bit her tongue when she messed up on the eyeliner, the black stickiness smudging.

She quickly put the magazine back on the shelf when she heard the door tinkle, and made herself look busy again. She only took a peek around the shelves of her aisle. Yamamoto was at the register, buying gum and a water bottle, all sweaty from a run.

* * *

~6~

She had finally done it.

She had finally done _it_.

And she felt like Marco Polo discovering the entire other half of the continent. What a wonderful place to be touched! She had no regrets. She snuggled next to him in her small dormitory bed, happy her roommate was visiting her parents. He had been determined to show her the pleasure over the pain, like falling out of an airplane tied together, with, of course, a parachute. Her boyfriend was a nice guy. He was a dependable engineering major.

Funny, though, how she always pictured this moment would be with _him_.

* * *

~7~

What was the point of this game? The players just stood around watching the batter tap his cleats to dislodge the orange clay, watching that uniformed boy's bat wave in the air as he stood over the plate. So much time was spent waiting for the pitch. For a hit.

How dull. The crack of wood against leather made her jolt back to attention, made her lift her brown eyes from the dry textbook.

Usagi had never bothered to go to a real baseball game before.

So why was she bedecked in 'Namimori Superfan' paraphernalia? Why was her face painted with her school's colors. The banner underneath her seat announced it was the first day of the district's tournament. Sun-tan lotion and hot dogs? Were they the smell of importance? Last night, she caught it—importance—etched on his hardened face. His eyes were so intense. They were glittering. Fukuichi Usagi couldn't get him out of her mind.

_'Cheer me on tomorrow, eh?'_

_

* * *

_

~8~

"Fukuichi-chan, you're doing well in my class," her half bald turtle of a teacher said as she collected her books, preparing to leave for her next class. Yamamoto stood next to him, a piece of paper with many red marks in his hand. "Do you think students deserve a second chance on the math exam?" Yamamoto Takeshi's smile didn't look too happy. Behind him, Irashi-sensei craned his neck, his stern frown similar to that of a bulldog's. He had given her a 94.

"No." she said brusquely. "I don't think so."

Her parents would be pleased if she ranked higher this year. She liked to see her father smile quietly behind his newspaper and feel her mother kiss her cheek. Then, hear them brag to grandma. 'Bright future.'

And Irashi-sensei was her ticket.

"I wouldn't have let you anyway, Yamamoto-kun. It's not my policy," she heard as she walked out of the classroom. "You should try studying next time."

* * *

~9~

It was his entire fault she tasted the teacher's bitter scowl. Now, they were stuck in detention, two desks pushed together, forced to fold paper and stuff envelopes for Nami-Middle's monthly newsletter.

Fold. Stuff. Lick. Seal.

"Why did you throw it like you pitch?" she asked bitter-sweetly. Her hair fell down, in front of her face, but she didn't dare push it behind her ears. Her ears were better under hair like a pimple is better under concealer. "Seriously?"

In math class, she had beckoned him to toss her the fallen eraser, which had bounced in his direction. She just barely jumped out of the way of a sixty mph missile. However, Irashi-sensei stood right behind her, sketching a cylinder on the blackboard.

"Haha! I guess I got carried away," he chuckled. Yamamoto looked at her as he spoke, resembling a large and friendly dog. She barely registered the moment, before his eyes went back to fold another letter.

She ought not to like the idea that getting in trouble was what brought them together. Kasan made her a cake two weeks ago to celebrate the end of mid-terms. This morning her father, before kissing Kasan and leaving for work, gave her an unforced smile on a normally bitter face.

'_You're my one and only daughter, Usi-chan,'_ he said, laughter ringing in his voice.

Usagi also looked back down at her penal work. Everything was separated into neat piles and she worked mechanically. Usagi picked up another envelope and licked it, then stuffed it with whatever papers Yamamoto was folding and passing to her. The room was warmly lit by the late afternoon sun and distant wind-chimes sung from a house across the street. She had wanted to go to Sei's house that afternoon.

But wasn't this better? Every now and then, her eyes flitted up. The work wasn't hard, but Yamamoto was making all her nerves stand on end. How could he be so relaxed?

…Oh yeah. he probably didn't have a crush on her.

Soon, her tongue had licked so many glue-strips that it hurt. Still, she kept up the work. What's a tongue, eh? You didn't need one for math. She reached for another envelope, but her hand dropped it in shocking pain. A little trickle of blood formed from the perfectly straight cut.

"Being stuck here isn't right." She finally complained, letting her hand fall to the desk loudly, her tolerance reaching its limit.

She hadn't looked up in a while, she realized.

Yamamoto had already slacked off. She came out of her robotic daze to find him the picture of leisure. He had stretched his legs out under the table and folded his arms behind his head. He was looking out the classroom window. "I want to get out of here." At her remark, he took a deep breath.

The baseball team was practicing on the field.

"We agree then," he said, breaking into a wide, sympathetic smile. He turned to her, his eyes warmly meeting hers like a firm handshake. But it wasn't his smile that made Usagi swallow a pill of happy nervousness. Underneath the two desks, Yamamoto had stretched out even more and his shoes touched hers.

"Don't force yourself to finish," he said after a bit, sitting back up and folding a stack of letters as one.

* * *

~10~

She felt dizzy, light headed, feverish... The sun beat down on her already burning face, making it feel oddly cold. She breathed heavily, slowly, not being able to persevere the unnaturally hot day. A dull ache harassed the back of her mind. But she couldn't give up now. Each step mattered. Each step brought her closer to home. She knew she was sick but there was no point in telling her companion. He should focus on that upcoming baseball competition. It was only a week away. He had passion. _Real passion._ She had to give him that. But for now, she just wanted to get home without being a burden. Without making him worry.

They were friends. It was the least she could do.

She didn't notice Yamamoto's worried eyes. She was just trying to endure the walk home, endure it like a building shaking in an earthquake. Every time he tried to start a conversation, she ended it in grumpy quick replies. Every time he tried to slow her pace down, she walked faster.

She couldn't believe she actually fainted. But what else could have happened? Memories alluded her as she awakened in a house that was not her own, in a bed that was not her own, next to a head of unmistakably black hair—

black hair that could only belong to Yamamoto Takeshi.


	2. Part 2

**THE PLAYER AND HIS BUNNY**  
.:Part 2:.

~11~

Fukuichi Usagi pulled the blanket up to her chin. Mascara stained hers cheeks like an unraveled cassette ribbon and she still wore her business suit, wrinkled, dirty, and slept in. She promised herself a real breakfast when she saw the sun, but for now she just wanted to sit here, pretzelled under the apartment window. Her back leaned against the wall and her palms cradled a glass of sweet, syrupy dessert wine.

Fukuichi Usagi was single. Whoop-dee-doo. It was a celebration. She was free. She was on her own. A new woman. Her lips curved upward into her drink. They say: if your body leads, your mind will follow. Smile first, and you will lift yourself out of any funk. Smile while it fell apart, just smile. That's what they say, but then, maybe it was just the drink. Everything seemed to disappear when her nose dunked into the aromatic liquor, giving her a sort of strength.

"I really liked her, man. She was a beautiful girl."

The telephone conversation floated through the open window, and her upstairs neighbor was stomping around his apartment.. At least it meant she wasn't drinking alone.

"I, ugh, think I love her. I can't believe this happened. I feel so damn sick."

He was a nice guy. He was someone solid and warm to curl up next to at night. A sort of wall from falling off the mattress. Now, in the dead of night, there would be nothing to grab onto besides her two pillows.

"Why can't she see me as more than a friend?"

He said she was boring.

He said she was awkward.

He said that the spark was missing.

He said his parents were pressuring him to marry.

He said he didn't think she was _the one_.

They had met over a stale cup of coffee in the break room. It had ended there, too.

"No, um, I don't know, ugh, I mean, I really did like her. I, um, just wish I could, get it right for once."

* * *

~12~

Usagi sat on the lidded toilet seat, cowering in the bathroom, thinking-thinking-thinking like Winnie the Pooh on his thinking-stump. She hugged a pillow to her stomach, where she still felt queasy, and her eyes shifted on the floor, tracing the grout and remembering how he slept with his mouth slightly open. Why did she wake up in his _bed_? What if he had woken up? Did he actually want more than friendship? What if she was wrong? What if this was what any naïve boy would have done? She was sick and she needed the help.

What if she left without saying a word?

What if she went out there and laid back in bed to see what he did when he woke up? Her heart screamed for it. Her stomach flipped against it.

As the door creaked open, her eyes shifted upward in exasperation. The window-lit room was brightened by the hallway lamp and his nose poked in first, his hand tight on the knob. Yamamoto's 'will it be a curveball or a slider?' pout came around to look into the bathroom mirror and his hand came up to his thick black hair, trying to smooth it.

"Excuse me…" Her formality came through in her fatigue. Would he turn around? She just wanted him to turn around. And he did, his eyes wide open, but he smacked a hand up in front of them.

"Hey! Uh, sorry. I didn't know you were in here."

In contrast Usagi was turning white as the moon. What should she say to him? NO! He was leaving! He was pulling the door open and stepping back out.

"Wait!"

"Huh?"

Was it the virus that made her sweat feel so cold?

She started to get up, wobbling, and then, he grabbed her shoulders.

"Hey, you still look really sick."

"Yeah, Takeshi..." She pulled the pillow back up to her stomach. Her eyes came up to his and a cold shiver passed through, her head forgetting her heart. His hands had come so quickly to steady her, tight roller-coaster restraints clamping down so heavily.

"I can whip up some rice," he said, hauling her out of the bathroom.

* * *

~13~

The lemon sherbet would melt before she could finish it and his root beer float would turn luke-warm and flat.

Usagi sat on a park bench famous for unlucky splinters. She had lost her place in her book, having slipped into a daydream of her date with the baseball head. She thumbed through the pages of the paperback novel to the very last page, to the very last sentence? Read it? She pursed her lips and slapped the book shut.

"_Oh, yes," I said. "We ought to have gone."_

This was so stupid. She was so stupid. She had never skipped to the end before. She always followed perfect order, one, three, four, order. Where was he? Her fingers crawled to her cell phone, hidden in a lacy pocketbook. She flipped it open and scrolled though her contacts list—It wasn't long: her mother, father, grandmother, Tamaki, Sei, and an informational number—until her little bar highlighted her boyfriends digits.

Call him? What should she say to Yamamoto when he stood her up?

Heck, what would _he_ say?

Was his smile really that fake….

Call Sei. Ask her. Sei would know what to do. Usagi just couldn't decide, couldn't put her finger on the right place in the book, like she forgot how multiple choice worked. She was used to math problems. Finding the length of AB. Was there a calculation to tell her what she must do? How long she waited multiplied by the hope she waited with divided by how angry she was right now.

Sei picked up on the second ring. "Hey Usagi-chan!"

"Hi Sei-chan, uh, I was just wondering if you could give me some advice," she held the phone with two hands.

"Oh? Where are you?"

"The park. Where are you?"

"I'm out with Mochida, haha. It's Saturday, you know. But at the park? What are you doing there?"

"Just… hanging out."

"Jeez, Usagi, you have a boyfriend. Stop acting so single."

"Hahaha!" She heard Mochida shout from the background. "Wait, hold on one sec. Mochida is being a jerk to the waitress," Sei sighed.

Usagi obeyed, hearing her friend speak quickly and harshly, then suddenly, laugh, giving in with 'okay, okay, I'll tell her.'

"Mochida says he saw Yamamoto playing baseball with some old friends of his at the school field. "

"Oh. Uh, thanks Sei."

"Hey! Did you want to talk to him or something? Is his phone not working?"

"Oh, no, Umm, hey, I'll see you tomarrow, Sei-chan. I have to go."

"All right? I'll catch you tomorrow, Usi-chan. Mochida-kun, please—"

So, he had abandoned her to play around. Had he really just forgotten about her at the sight of a baseball field? Sei's giggle made her wish she was having a day out too. Maybe she shouldn't expect so much from Yamamoto. He had so much to worry about with baseball. She closed her ruined book gently, ruined because she read the ending. She would read through it anyway, later. She tucked her book into her bag and got up from the park bench. Her phone felt like a dead bird in her hand, silent and stiff. Would he call? He would have to call eventually. Should she call?

She flipped her phone open again, and hesitantly put it to her ear.

And then, her face lifted up to the laughter of a group of boys that bended around the corner, through a small patch of shrubs. They were huddled under a light post chatting and laughing, and the sky was getting darker and darker, and Usagi tilted her face down to their rowdiness. They were older than her, taller, still boys, but tall enough to make her walk on the other side of the path, loud enough to make her wish she had worn a pull over hoodie instead of this skirt. She had worn the pretty make-up and outfit for Yamamoto, but now, she felt self-conscious, weird for looking like this with no one by her side.

_Please pick up. Please pick up._

She acted normal, pretending to talk on her phone just to be safe about the stock in Tamaki's shop.

_Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr. _The phone rung on his end.

What if she was safer calling Sei-chan?

_Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr._

_Please pick up. Please pick up._

"Hey, what's up Usagi-kun?"

She stumbled over what she should say. Her voice was very loud, reassuring herself she wasn't alone. Meanwhile, one of the guys pushed another, calling him a girl.

"Not much…ah… just thought I'd call. I'm in the park."

"I'm helping my old man clean up the restaurant right now." She could hear dishes clinking and water running. She started to speak, but he interrupted her. "It's getting kind of late. What are you doing there?"

The boys kept talking, which was good. The phone had worked. It had locked them out.

"It's good that you're not alone. Who is talking in the background, eh?"

"Oh, just some people I'm walking past." He could hear them? "They're wearing Makio Middle's uniform."

"Yeah, really? Put them on the phone." Usagi's face looked like her stomach, and Yamamoto had to ask, "Hey, are you still there?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Put them on. I know them. It's cool. It's cool, haha," he reassured.

She turned around, pulling her skirt lower in the front, ballet flats rolling over the pebbles in the dirt path. She could have lied to Yamamoto. She could have said 'I have to get home. I have a test tomorrow in chemistry,' which she did. But his voice was so easy to listen to, so easy to follow, making decisions so well for her, so easy to trust. The cell phone settled so carefree in her hands, in her heart, a virus that made her completely disregard school.

"Yo, you need something?" one guy asked when he saw she had turned around to look at him and his friends.

"No, but uh, my boyfriend heard you're from Makio and wants to talk to you."

He gave her a puzzled look, and when she held out her phone, he took it. In the lamplight, he didn't seem so bad anymore. He laughed hard when the phone came to his ear.

"Yo! Hey man, how are you?"

"Who is it, Izanagi-kun?" one of the other kids asked. Usagi noticed a baseball bat case slung over his shoulder, and a cap set coolly to the side of his head.

"It's Yamamoto," the Izanagi said, lifting the phone away for a second. "What's the score tonight?"

"Wow, that's a coincidence," another kid said, punching the Izanagi with the phone.

"Not bad. Not bad. Their fielding is tops."

"What is? Guys! Can I have my phone back?" Usagi asked.

"Hold on," Izanagi said. "Yeah, I remember. Sure, I can do that." Usagi looked exasperated, but at least, she wasn't on edge anymore.

"Why are you guys in Namimori's park anyway?" she asked the chill boy with the baseball bat. "Makio is on the other side of town."

"Makio's field is closed," he said, taking his cap off and bending the brim. "Lame right? So we went to the Namimori one to hit around for a bit. Good thing Takeshi was there, or we might have been kicked off."

"Thirsty?" The third butted in with candid sincereity. He pushed a can in her direction, a little crushed, but still cold from the machine.

"Ahah. No," she cringed. "Sharing drinks is gross."

"She said it," Izanagi jabbed his friend with the soda. "Oh, nothing man," he continued into the phone. "This kid here just wants to give your girlfriend an indirect kiss."

Usagi stepped closer. "What?"

"Eh?" said the kid with the soda pop. "No, it's not like that, Senpai." He tried to grab the phone from Izanagi, but he held it high away. "Yo bro, seriously." Usagi looked on, blushing, but the attention was off her, becuase the two guys only cared about who had the phone now.

"Okay, I'll see you later, Yamamoto-kun," the older boy managed to say, warding the kid off. He flipped the phone shut and handed it back to her, squirming by the cola boy, but the kid eventually got him good in the side. "Hey guys, we're taking her home." He pushed his friend away, ruffled. Then he turned to Usagi. "Ya know, your boyfriend knicked a fowl off my best pitch."

"Yeah, and tell Yamamoto I didn't mean it that way," the soda boy said, tossing the can in the trash. "Izanagi, you're an ass."

"Say that on the field, grasshopper," the baseball senior rebuked.

* * *

~14~

She blamed the email. Not the person.

Actually, wait.

She blamed his new girlfriend. He never talked about anyone before. It was always baseball! BASEBALL! Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Stupid Takeshi!" He was an idiot, he really was. To be this good at making friends. To find someone else to love him so quickly. Everyone loved him. Maybe that made him so stupid. Everyone loved him. He was like this little puppy dog, picked up so easily. And she tried to imagine he was the kind of puppy dog that peed on the rug the moment you set him down.

But he wasn't like that either.

Goddamnit, she wanted to cry, but finals were in an hour. It really was the _best_ time to get an email like this, textbooks messy on her desks. Best time. Nice-Timing-Yamamoto. She moaned, tired on little sleep, having studied all night, and her head slid onto the keyboard and her arms folded over her head. The screen was bright with her email's inbox and it gave her a headache.

They had broken up, sure, she thought, hunched in her swivel chair. She had left the puppy dog for someone else to pick up and carry home. That didn't mean she didn't want to take him home, cuddle him in up like she used to, hug him so hard, kiss him…. She just couldn't handle it…. And she was going to ask him out to dinner to celebrate final exams being over and done with and out of the way. To celebrate the beginning of an enormous summer vacation, to hang out like friends again, all and only platonic….

Maybe she was stupid. Maybe she _really_ was stupid.

She wanted to reply saying that she was upset, that she was hurt, that she was disappointed he did that and that he should have been more responsible and mentioned this girl before. But no. This was a battle. A battle between ex-girlfriend and ex-boyfriend. So she replied back simply and shortly.

'Yeah, me too. He's magical.'

* * *

~15~

Usagi grabbed onto the mesh chain fence, trying to lift herself higher to see into the shady dugout. Baseball practice was almost over and she dedicated her twenty minute study break to walking home with Yamamoto. Her book bag was slung over her shoulder and her favorite study spot, a quiet garden near the senior center, was only a block from the baseball field. Usagi kept a juice box tight in her hands for the tired player, her best pen tucked industriously behind her ear. She leaned into the fence lazily, following the player's lanky, uniformed figure only, that same figure had just disappeared in a cloud of pink dust.

She leaned away. She reproached the fence.

She wouldn't call his name. That would be embarrassing. A cloud of pink smoke? Usagi motioned to one of the players a few feet away, a scruffy red-head with glasses, and he told her Yamamoto was never here, that she must have mistaken him for another player—which made her wonder about what she had seen. Is this the affect of too much sun? Of her nose sniffing too many old library books?

She went home, waving cheerfully to the shopkeepers on the way, who greeted her just like they did when she was a child.

The next day, Yamamoto wasn't at school, wasn't sitting in that seat towards the back. He wasn't scratching his head over a difficult problem nor catching her eye and smiling when she turned around.

Neither did he meet her at Tamaki's after school and so, she decided, sweeping the shop in a worried rush, she would visit the restaurant. He always made such an effort to be so social. Maybe... he was sick?

After work, she pushed aside the fabric hanging over the sushi-shop's doorway and found Yamamoto's dad chopping a large tuna carcass. There was a strong feel to the place, like a sailboat with an experience set of hands, and she assumed the player was safe and sound, snuggled under his covers. Tsuyoshi had a handkerchief tied around his head and he carved the expensive fish with confident, strict hands. Usagi went to the bar stool. A fresh paycheck peaked neatly out from her uniform's pocket protector.

"Hi, Tsuyoshi-sama. How is the restaurant?"

The buzz-cut chief looked up from his labor, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Oh, Usagi-chan, it's a hot day isn't it." He already had his hands on his hip, powerfully akimbo in his kitchen. "Would you like something to eat?" He picked up a different knife to shave off a filet from the muscle.

"Umm, no thank you,.I was just stopping by to see if Takeshi was home. Is he upstairs?"

"Oh, Takeshi? A friend of his, oh that boy seems to have so many friends, but a friend of his came by, said there was a tournament a couple towns over."

Usagi nodded carefully. "For… Baseball?"

"Haha, no, a kendo competition." The old man chuckled proudly.

"Kendo? Yamamoto plays baseball _and_ does kendo?" Usagi felt weird, lost. Her thoughts rarely stumbled. _Since when?_

"He only just learned, but that boy beats a quick mind, I tell ya, Usagi-chan. It takes a smart girl like you to keep up with him, I bet." She couldn't help beaming, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Anyway, the competition must have come completely out of the blue."

Usagi sat for a bit on the stool, thinking about how Yamamoto might look in Mochida's kendo gear and if he really preferred it over the baseball practice he missed this afternoon. She listened Tsuyoshi went on about the tradition of the sword, emphasizing sportsmanship.

"But always follow what you love Usagi. That's why I'm in this hot kitchen," he winked. "You sure you're not hungry?"

She finally laughed. "Okay, I'll try some."

"He'll come back with a trophy, I'm sure," he shouted out to her as she left, snacking on a rice ball with salmon. She liked the restaurant. Yamamoto smelled like his restaurant.

She went to the park to finish her late afternoon snack, and sat down on one of the old swings. It was an old play-set, nestled in mulch chips behind the monkey bars. The chains were rusty red and grimy black, but the metal posts were painted fresh with paint. Children shouted from the newer younger set on the farther end of the park, the side built with new equipment after she was too old for playgrounds. The swing creaked nastily, after all it was older than her. She clamped her hands at the rusting chains holding up the swing.

She chewed the last corner of her riceball, setting her mind to read another statistics chapter when she got home. How many more chapters left?

"Hey! Why're you making such a sad face?" A calloused hand stopped the swing from its subtle motion.

"Takeshi! What happened!" She sprung up, and for once, she knew what it felt like to be one of those dogs that wagged its tail so hard it thwacked the wall. Only after he winced "Ow-ow, what are you doing?" from her pinching his cheek did she leap up and hug his neck.

"You're back!"

* * *

~16~

That prefect was so scary! All nonsense, so stuffy and intimidating. Like a teacher she couldn't butter-up, his mouth straight and dry and pursed. Sei-chan had persuaded her to skip the dreaded writing class to go relax on the roof. She was lucky she got away with only this detention.

Now, the two girls were stuck cleaning the trophy case in the school's main office.

Sei was in the bathroom when she finally came to the baseball team's array. The old wooden shelf needed to be polished, it was so old, and a brand new, golden cup stood out like a single polished button on an old coat.

_Districts MVP: Yamamoto Takeshi_

She rubbed the rag over the metal plaque, making it shine, but she just couldn't get into the little knicks of the engraved letters. The rag was too fat. She couldn't touch it.

* * *

~17~

There is only so much room in an armchair, the straight, hard seat her father liked to smoke in.

"There's no room, hey! You can't sit here."

But Takeshi just gave her that wonderful grin of his as he turned on the lamp, one hand gripping the upholstered arm. The TV in her living room was already lighting up half of the room, despite her open paperback novel. Her parents had declared their weekend getaway only an hour ago, and now, his messenger bag, coat and scarf hung near the entrance, a little wet from the rain.

After turning the lamp to the dimmest setting, he tossed an arm over her shoulders, sliding in from the side. His muscle-weight easily displaced her. When she pushed on his chest in protest, whining, "Takeshi!" he came down and kissed her lightly on the lips, and damn, it nearly made her fall apart. She already closed her eyes, but the kiss never deepened and they never opened their mouthed. Usagi never went past his lips, never had the chance. He was just too quick to kiss her, too quick to pull away laughing about it. And maybe they were better this way, pushing her out of her book and feeling the world around her in all its chaos—the world with its pages all out of order—beginning with a kiss and ending with hello. The baseball player pulled her smoothly onto his lap, her legs thrown over the armchair's side.

"Ah! This is a nice chair!" Something deviously confident exuded from his smirk tonight, but it faded into his laughter. He leaned back, content, Usagi still strewn across his legs. Returning to her book while he channel surfed, she remembered the condom in his gym bag and the grand slam she had missed.

_Did he really want to do it?_

_

* * *

_

~18~

The sushi shop was in disarray, the chairs and tables pushed to the side, and logs and splinters littering the floor.

"We're closed—" Tsuyoshi began, "Oh, Usagi-chan, ah, please, don't mind the mess." He turned to face her completely. "How would you like something to eat?" She stepped into the room, avoiding the wooden splinters littering the ground.

"What happened?"

"oh, it's all just firewood. For the cookout you two wanted to have. It will be cleared in a bit."

"Oh." It was all she could say when she caught sight of Yamamoto. His arms were bandaged and an eye patch covered one of his eyes. His legs were cut and bruised and he had a couple bandaids dotting his cheek. A kendo sword was tucked under his arm. She quickly sidestepped the rubble, clicking the pen from her ear and letting it slip like a released fish into her handbag.

"The ball hit him during practice." His old man called from the kitchen. Yamamoto didn't look at her, but instead had limped over to pick up some of the logs from the floor, kneeling slowly. "He just needs to practice more."

Her eyes weren't stupid, counting all the splinters in the room, eyes slicing the cuts no baseball could make. She wanted to snap at him, but with Tsuyoshi nearby, wouldn't it be like snapping at a bear? She felt small here, Yamamoto so tall despite his injuries.

"Are you okay?" What else could she ask him when his face looked like that? She stepped closer and Yamamoto leaned his shinai against the wall.

"Yeah, I'm all right. This is nothing."

"This is ridiculous," she said lower. His eyes shifted to hers, and he looked sick, like when his math average was so low that he almost lost his place on the baseball team. It was a look as dark and lost as his fingers in his hair.

"It would be better if you didn't ask." A slight smile. Not his usual wide grin. Feeling the tar fill her mouth, she shut up. She felt like she was in a lecture, the teacher never giving any student the opportunity to ask a question. Only there was this silence between them as she helped him pick up the sliced wooden blocks.

"No, it would be better if I did," she finally whispered.

"It's nothing bad."

"You ruined your arm!"

"It's only a game, Usagi." He shrugged, smiling so gently at her, his grin back, decorated in band-aids. He took the scraps of wood she collected, all in one hand, and got up to up to put them in a box by the door. Only then did she notice his limp.

"Forget the cookout," she said louder, getting up herself, the tar in her mouth burning. "I need to study."

* * *

~19~

She had just enough money to buy food for next week. Now, Fukuichi Usagi stood hunched, slim, sharp, and hungry in front of her apartment's entrance. Struggling, she reached a hand into her purse, shifting two paper bags of bread, peanut butter, milk, canned vegetables, and bananas in her arms. Her professional black pocketbook did not become her new, thrifty lifestyle. Hopefully, her unemployment check would be coming in soon, or else, she would have to borrow money from her parents. No insurance firms were hiring, it seemed. She had excellent recommendations, but she was always refused before the interview.

She couldn't understand why she was fired.

And she couldn't understand why she couldn't get a new job. Find a new actuarial position.

Five years in college. Four years studying and interning to pass the eighth and final actuary test. All those tests were over, she was free of school. And what had it gotten her?

She had the key in her hand, but she didn't feel so rushed to open the door anymore.

What for?

In her apartment, none of the lights were on and no hallway light flooeded in, the landlord too cheap. Not that her complex was dangerous. Heck, these apartments were tiny and economical, attracting the eye of few thieves. Her neighbors had little worth robbing.

She didn't know a leather glove even existed in her apartment until it covered her mouth, muffling it with a sort of plastic, soundproof mask. Another hand shot around her waist, wrapping around the groceries and sandwiching her between them and a lean brick wall body. Fear flooded her mind, her screaming perfectly silent, while her instinct begging her to defend herself. Her keys, still enclosed in her hand, rammed into one of her assaulter's arms. Her legs, deer legs stumbling on their sheer thinness, were no help in trying to kick. Her attackers crushing bear hug was really all that held her up while her key tore at the sleeve of his shirt. Did she break the skin? Did she ram the key violently enough into his muscle? She didn't know. God, she hoped she did.

Just because she couldn't get a job. Just because her love life had gone down the drain. She had so many dreams to live for. So many dreams she had just realized.

"Fuck, hold still, woman," a raspy voice whispered in her ear, almost inaudibly. Her scream stilled in her throat and her body numbed in uncertain panic. The overwhelming smell of cigarettes replaced the restraints.

"What shit is in your head to not know your house is bugged?"

* * *

~20~

"Just a little bit, please," she said but he just laughed, pouring more into her glass. His cheeks were already tinted red behind his suntan. He was pouring a large bottle of Sake, tied at the top with a red bow, into a mug with cartoon characters scribbled on as if they had been copied straight off of an elementary school board. Remnants of his childhood.

"Haha! I'm not going to be stingy. This stuff is good." He brought the cup over to her, and added, "It's from Ryohei."

"He gave this to you?"

"Yeah, for winning that tournament last year," he said, seating himself next to her, pretending to groan like a tired old man, then laughing again. "Here," he said, putting the Sake in her hands. She could feel the warmth through the porcelain.

"I thought you had special cups for this," she said, surprised and curious about the kiddie pictures decorating the outside.

"Oh, yeah, well, my old man would know if I used them." She smiled at that, remembering how observant Takeshi's father was compared to him. "Baseball season is over," he ended, draping his arm over the back of the couch and turning to face her completely.

"Mmm. You played well last night," she said. The game had run into extra innings, she remembered, and the evening was cold, as it being autumn, the end of the season. She had camped out on the bleachers with a flashlight and a thermos of tea, wrapped in her bed's quilt. She had planned to go with Sei, but plans fall through sometimes. So she sat alone on the highest bleacher, accompanied by her high school calculus textbook on her lap. The light of her small flashlight was an island in the darkness compared to the stadium's green field ablaze in green and orange by humongous rectangular panels of bulbs. "I don't know how you made the diving catch."

"But we lost," he said seriously. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him on the sofa. "You don't mind that?" She was in the middle of taking a sip of her drink, and Yamamoto pulling her so suddenly caused a little too much to find its way into her mouth.

"Oh, that's strong!" she coughed. His arm wound loosely around her waist and more than alcohol made her face turn red. Though the drink definitely helped.

"Are you okay?"

"I- Yeah." She croaked as he took the mug from her and took a sip for himself. "But, umm, I've never seen you drink before," she managed to get out, pulling herself together, putting a hand his. "Is everything all right?" She turned around, propping herself up with her forearm on his shoulder.

"Mmm. We're having a celebration."

"A celebration?"

"Well, baseball season is officially over." He swirled the mug, not looking at her, and then took an extra large swallow. He finally lifted his eyes to her and they shifted over her face. "It was a great season. I'll never forget it." He laugh a little, quiet and soft. "Besides, I actually caught you on a night you aren't studying. That's something else worth celebrating." Another large sip.

"Don't exaggerate," Usagi sighed turning back around.

"What?"

"Nothing." She picked up his hand and put it to her lips, and gave it a soft pecking kiss. "Just promise me you'll never drink alone."


End file.
